Ostara
by Pax Moony
Summary: Scott McKinney is in the middle of a major moral dilemma when a sweet little blonde who lives in the woods waltzes into his life. Working on a farm all by his lonesome is no easy chore. With a terminally ill father, and a questionable future, Scott needs to make important decisions that will change his life forever. Dott fic. (Part of The Vitus Macrocosm Series)


_Hey guys! We're back, and we're ready to start the next chapter of the Vitus Macrocosm. It's been exactly one year today since we published Think Happy Thoughts. We figured that was a sure enough sign to light a fire under our asses and get started on this one for all of you. Be sure you keep your eye out for updates and the soon-to-come community that all of the stories for this series will be posted into. Also keep an eye out for the occasional one-shot, because there will be a few of those as well._

_Needless to say, we missed the crap out of writing for you all and can't wait to add this next installment to our collection. Though this one will be shorter than the last, we hope you'll still read and enjoy it! Lots of love to everyone!_

_~Moony & Bialy_

Chapter One - Gypsy

There was a chill in the air that the citizens of Spotswood knew only too well. The end of October was nearing, and winter would soon be raging on around them as it did every year. Soon enough, the ground would be blanketed in a thick layer of snow, the trees would be barren and their branches would be encased in a thin layer of ice, shining against the clear blue skies that seemed to accompany the sparkling sheets of cold frost. That wouldn't be for a few more weeks, though. Until then, the happy townspeople would enjoy the changing of the leaves' colors before they made their descent to the forest floor, fodder for the next generation of plants that would soon inhabit it.

Spotswood was a sweet little mountain town just north of the Canadian border. Surrounded by trees, rolling hills, and vast space, the town was not close in proximity to any others. The people who dwelled within were kind, and such a small population inhabited it that everyone knew everybody else. It was a happy community, full of festivals and sharing, smiling faces, and holiday celebrations that most big cities weren't able to enjoy on the same level. The tight-knit nature of the community made it all seem like one big family.

The pride of the town was the river and the bridge that traversed it. The clear waters provided them with fresh water, healthy fish, and a sizeable income for mills and factories that were inlaid in the town, following the river. Though it wasn't the wealthiest of towns, they all made enough money to survive and thrive as a small community, and that was all that mattered. The forests provided them with game, nuts, and in some cases fruits. The farms on the other side of the river sold their produce in the town for their income, making enough money to support themselves and producing enough food to fuel the town. The town was tucked away deep in the pines of Canada, and obscure enough that they simply dropped off the map. There was no tourist revenue, or any great landmarks, and for the most part it was quiet and that was more than enough. For Scott, it was the greatest place on the planet.

The last months of Autumn marked the end of the harvest season, and time to reap the produce was growing short on the McKinney farm, especially since young Scott had to do it on his own this year. It was the first time that he'd ever had to work the fields by himself, and he was a bit nervous that he wouldn't get it all done in time. He knew he had to do it. He would have spent all day in the fields without food or drink if he'd been able; anything to bring money into his home. It had been approximately six months since his father had fallen ill. Only recently had the old man been confined to his bed, entirely incapable of helping his son to manage the farm that had supported them for so long. Unfortunately, the land wasn't supportive enough to give them the money they needed for his dialysis. With a failing liver, it was only a matter time before the man took his last few breaths and left his son entirely alone.

Scott kind of knew that after that, the farm was up for forfeit. Taking care of the farm that they had, at the size it was, was a two person job. Honestly, it was more than a two person job, but somehow, year after year, just Scott and Pappy had made due. It would be a miracle if he managed to take care of it all this year. It would be nearly impossible to do so on his own after that. There would be no money left, and he would be entirely on his own. The best thing to do, he was sure, was to sell it to somebody who could actually take care of it. He knew better, however, than to trust those corporate schamers who wanted desperately to take up roots in Spotswood.

For years, he and his father had been bothered and badgered by some bigwig corporation that wanted to build a factory on the very soil which they lived on. Pappy, of course, had refused. On the day of Scott's eighteenth birthday, the farm was signed into joint-ownership by the two men.

"Scott," he'd said sternly, leaning across the dinner table with a grim frown. "Whatever happens to me, I want this farm to stay in your hands. My daddy left it to me when he passed, and I want you to leave it to your children when you grow old. It's the mark of our integrity. It's the pride of our name."

"Pappy, you're sick," Scott had protested, his brow creasing with worry. "I love Spotswood, and I love this farm, but we could sell this place, make money and head to the city. I could go to school or somethin', and make a whole lot more money than we ever could on this farm."

"This isn't about money, son. This is about pride, and never givin' up. It's about holdin' on to what's yours, and what you stand for, and never lettin' anyone take it away from you. I want you to take care of this place as long as you can, and do justice to the McKinney name."

"But I don't care much about the McKinney name if it means you're gonna die."

"Then let it be my deathwish," Pappy said, holding up his palm to silence his son. "Last thing I want is for you to throw away everything you hold dear just to see me get old 'n sick 'n dyin' just a little slower than I am now. This is home. We ain't goin' nowhere. We're stayin' right here."

Scott was quiet. He_ did _want to throw away everything if it meant his Pappy living even just a little bit longer. But he also really wasn't in a place to argue. Not if Pappy's mind was made up, that was. It still felt wrong that he was going to sit by and watch as his father wasted away, when he could do something, but there wasn't much to be done.  
>"Yeah, okay, Pappy," Scott agreed quietly. His father stood and pat him on the head with a grin.<p>

"'Atta boy. Now get out there and make sure everythin's goin' the way it's supposed to."

"Yessir."

That was the last conversation they'd had before the man was sentenced to a life in bed. He was barely capable of speaking anymore, and even needed help eating sometimes. He was in a lot of pain. He was often confused, and his skin had begun to turn an unfavorable shade of yellow from jaundice. The man had refused to change his dietary habits, and was even drinking from time to time. He'd cut back considerably since the doctor had diagnosed him with chronic liver failure, but refused to stop altogether.

"If I'm gonna die, it's gonna be with a drink in hand!" he'd declared, slightly inebriated even then. Though Scott was embarrassed by his father's alcoholism, and was concerned for the man's life, he knew that there was nothing he could do to save his Pappy. The man was determined to wreck himself, and he would. There was no stopping an alcoholic. Especially one trying to cope with the pain and suffering of terminal illness. He cared little about the fact that it was damaging him further. He wanted only to numb the pain, and alcohol gave him the escape he needed.

There was nothing to be done at this point other than to follow orders and to hope for the best. He was trying his damnedest to distract himself with mind-numbing, repetitive work. He'd grabbed a basket and got down on his hands and knees to pick the last of the ripe tomatoes that were growing closer to the house. He'd already managed to pick a good portion of the corn, though he'd had help from some of the townsfolk. Many pitied him for his unfortunate situation with his father, and the community had been helping him to keep the farm afloat for the moment. It wouldn't be long, though, before he'd be on his own again. That thought continually popped into his head, and it scared him almost as much as the fact that soon his father would be dead.

Mindlessly, eyes trained on the dirt beneath him, he reached for the bright fruits that he'd planted only a few months earlier. One by one, he placed them in the basket, intent on filling it before retrieving another. Later, after he'd filled several, he would take them into town and sell them, as was custom. He was not expecting to reach out and find his hand grasped by another. A shrill shriek erupted from the other side of the leafy wall, and he gasped in horror before stumbling backward.

"Dear mother of all that is holy!" He cried out, eyes wide. "Who's that! Who is that!"A yellow flash popped up front the top of the stalks, and a young woman was looking down at him with an expression that crossed between confusion and horror.

"Who am I?" She asked incredulously. "Who are you!" He stopped and stared.

"The pale skin," he whispered breathlessly. "The bright eyes. Oh, dear mother of gawd." He jumped up, abandoning his basket of tomatoes and taking off across the field. "_PAPPY!_ PAPPY HELP, THERE'S A WITCH IN THE TOMATO PATCH!" Scott had never actually met a witch in his life, but he'd always imagined them to look something like the small girl who stood awkwardly in the middle of his farm. He'd heard stories since he was just a child, stories of women who hid away in the woods and abducted children to do their bidding, or seducing men into the dark and luring them to their doom. The woman just turned to watch him as he fled. She held her hands up for a moment before taking off after him.

"I'm not a witch!" She yelled after him, pausing for a moment before continuing, "What even_ is_ a witch? I've never heard of one of those!"

"Stay away from me, witch! Stay back! I-I'll go in and get my god-damned crucifix if I have to! Pappy keeps one on the mantle, I swear to gawd!" His statement just made the woman run faster, and in a burst of speed she smacked into him, taking them both down.

"I told you, I'm not a witch!" She cried once more, huffing. "Will you please just calm down?"

"You live in the woods!? Huh!? Huh, do you witch!? I bet you do!" He was struggling to get away with little success. "You live in the woods and you talk to animals! A-And you cast your wicked spells on innocent farm folk like me to do your dirty work, right!?"

"Well," she admitted with a frown. "I do live in the woods. And I do talk to animals sometimes. But I've never cast a 'spell' on anyone in my life. I just like trees…" She bit her lip nervously, trying desperately to hold him down so that he had time to calm himself.

"Hah! Hah! You don't cast spells! That's a laugh!"

"I swear, I don't! I'm not a witch!" She grabbed him by the cheeks and stared down at him. "I don't know what that is, but it doesn't sound nice by the way you're talking about it. Don't be mean! It's unfair to call people names, or use a title as an insult."

"If you're not a _witch_, then what _are _you?"

"Oh! Well, I'm just Dawn. Dawn the Human. That's my name," she smiled.

"Dawn. _The Human_." He raised an eyebrow at her incredulously, looking skeptical. "That's quite a name. I sure hope you ain't compensatin' for somethin'." He finally managed to sit up, dusting his shirt off. "Tell me, girl, what exactly are you doin' pickin' my tomatoes? I need those!"

"I was hungry," she stated casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His puzzled expression only deepened.

"Most folks pay for those, usually," he said, staring at her. "I ain't ever seen you around here. You're not from here. Are you?" She just shrugged.

"I wander around a bit. But I found a nice place, so I was thinking about sticking around here for a little bit." He didn't look convinced, but eventually pushed her out of his lap awkwardly before standing.

"Uh, well. Listen. I really need to get back to work. I don't have time to talk." He looked down at her, and frowned when he saw her big, bright eyes staring up at him with such wonder. He ran a hand through his ginger-tinted locks and sighed. "Um. I guess you can take a few tomatoes if you want, but… you know what. I have an idea." She gave him an eager nod.

"Yeah?"

"Okay, _Dawn_," he murmured, emphasizing her name so that he wouldn't forget it. "You're hungry. Obviously, you don't have a job or you wouldn't be stealin' my crops. I need help gettin' this harvest together, and it's gonna take a lot of effort. If you help me with it, I'll make sure you get three square meals a day. You won't have to steal my food, and I'll have free labor."

"Three meals seems like a lot of food." She eyed him skeptically. "Do you really need to eat that much?" He blinked, staring at her in wonder.

"Uh… most people eat 'three square meals' a day," He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. "How on earth have you survived this long? You _are_ pretty thin…"

"I am?" She mumbled, bringing her hands up to cup her waist before looking back up at him. "I've always been this size."

"You're skin 'n bones practically," he replied, frowning. She just laughed.

"You're gigantic, though! Look at you, you're twice my size. Everyone must look small to you, not just me." She knocked a hand against his chest for emphasis. "How do you even get so tall?"

"Just born that way, I guess," he uttered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "My pappy's real tall too. Just runs in the blood." He smiled at her for the first time, which she responded to with a giant grin.

Before long, they were back out in the fields. He showed her what was what, and how to tell if a plant was ripe or not. Much to his surprise, however, she seemed to already know a liberal amount about picking the right fruits and vegetables, and before long they were filling baskets up together like no other. He silently thanked whatever higher power was out there; this girl was a godsend.

When they'd managed to fill up five different baskets with food, he smiled at her again.

"I'm gonna load these up in my truck and head into town," he said. "If you head inside and wait, I'll come back and make you some food as payment for your hard work. You've been a big help. I don't know how else to thank you. I'd give you money, but I don't have much of that and I don't think you'd have much use for it anyway. Ah, take that one basket there in with you, too. That'll feed us for the next month." He watched her thoughtfully for a short moment before he leaned down to pick up two of the heaping baskets by their handles

"Whatever you do," he warned, giving her a look. "You make sure you stay in the kitchen. Don't go explorin' when you're inside. My pappy's real sick and needs his rest."

"Okay," she agreed with a solemn nod. "I'll try not to wander off. I sure hope your pappy gets better soon, though." He looked troubled momentarily before his face grew stony. He started toward his pick-up and pressed his lips together in a fine line.

"I hope so too," he replied, shoulders squared and jaw set. He knew better than to expect it would happen. He knew what inevitable end was coming for his father. Scott loaded up the giant baskets of food into the truck bed without another word. He watched her carefully as she slipped through the front door of his home, then heaved a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. After everything was packed up, he slipped into the driver's seat and disappeared from the driveway to sell his produce in town.

When he returned, he seemed a bit happier. He'd managed to sell a hefty portion of the fresh crops. The small amount left over would be kept for them. With a wallet full of cash, he pushed through the front door, then paused. The house was oddly silent. He glanced into the kitchen only to find that his new, small friend was not there.

"Dawn?" He called. He searched every room. Every room but that room, because he really, sincerely hoped that she hadn't gone in _there_. It eventually came to the point, though, where he'd scoured the whole house, and that was the only room left. "Dawn! Where you at?"

"_Shhhhh!_" He cringed inwardly at the sound as he peeked into his father's room. "Pappy's sleeping. He was making noises so I came in to keep him company. Now he's breathing fine. Went right to sleep." With wide eyes, he gawked at her as if she were an alien. She was stroking Pappy's hair, slowly like one would comfort a fussing child. After a prolonged silence, he spoke.

"Girl, you're something else," he uttered. "I-Thank you. He looks…. restful." He smiled and gestured for her to follow him out.

"C'mon. I'll make you something to eat," he said, before looking sheepish. He couldn't believe that in all of the commotion he'd forgotten something so important. " Ah, I'm Scott, by the way. I… hope that we can become good friends."

He had no idea just how important the tiny girl would become over the next few weeks. All he knew was that he had a strange new friend that would help him outdoors and work for food. Innocent and sweet, she seemed like someone he could trust.


End file.
